Dirty Talks

It had been almost a week since Michael and I fucked, and we were pretending it hadn’t happened. All we’d really done was watch TV in our pajamas and eat everything in the house, so when I woke up at four PM to find Michael vigorously cleaning I was a little worried.
"What are you doing?" I asked, kicking an empty Red Bull can across the floor, which he picked up and tossed into the overstuffed trash bag he had been carrying around.
"We’re throwing a party," He replied, tying the bag and tossing it by the front door. "Tonight."
"Why?" I asked, pulling up my mess of hair. I hadn’t showered in two days and I had no plan on doing so. "Can’t we do it, like, next week?"
"Listen to me, I finished Destiny and if I have to sit by myself any longer I might actually blow my brains out."
"I can blow your brains out," I smirked, shocking myself at how easily the words fell out of my mouth. Unable to watch Michael’s face turn as red as his faded hair used to be, I quickly walked to the kitchen. Hiding my smile by sticking my head in the fridge, pretending to search for something to eat, I called out, "So, did you already invite people? Anyone I know?"
"Some guys off the football team at school, Luke and Calum," He replied. "And the guy that lives down the street, Ashton. Plus everyone else in my contacts list, but they’re in year 12 so I doubt you know them."
"What, don’t think the older kids want to know me?" I asked, closing the fridge door and leaning up against it as Michael looked at me through the threshold between the living room in kitchen.
Let’s get one thing straight: neither of us looked even remotely sexy. I was wearing baggy plaid pajama pants and an old dingy, white t-shirt that had more coffee stains and orange Cheeto-finger prints than I could count. Michael was in a Misfits jumper and a pair of white sweatpants. His hair was just as flat and dirty as mine. Yet, besides these lazy, grungy styles, the tension and attraction between us was undeniable.
"I never said that," He replied quietly, staring me down with one eyebrow raised. I didn’t say anything, so he nodded, "Go get ready. I’ve got alcohol to buy."
.
We’d be getting a noise complaint pretty soon, but the party wasn’t dying down. Everyone was drinking and laughing, people were playing pool and video games, our dining room table had been cleared off for body shots, and the upstairs bedroom had become the community-fuck-room. Michael and I had been smart enough to lock our bedroom doors.
Speaking of Michael, he was leaned up against a wall across the room looking as enticing as ever. He had redyed his red hair, the only color that he had stuck with for over a month. His red flannel matched, a freshly-painted X marking the breast pocket. His jeans were as tight as mine, displaying his wonderfully sculpted legs.
He was talking to Luke, so when I approached them, I said hello. He politely returned my greeting. “Can I talk to you?” I asked Michael, whispering in his ear. I was both being suggestive, and making sure that he could hear me over the music and crowd of partiers.
"Sure, sure," He nodded. He told Luke he’d catch up with him later and followed me across the living room. I looked to the stairs, which were as crowded as the streets of New York on a Friday night— I couldn’t fight to get up there. I needed him in that moment, and I knew he’d get stopped by someone to talk. He was more popular than he let himself believe.
I pulled all the keys out of my pocket, quickly unlocking the door to the garage and letting him walk in first. I slammed it behind me, pushing him against the wall and turning the little lock button again from the inside. I clutched his biceps and crashed my lips against his. When he broke away in shock, I started on his neck, mumbling against his skin, “I’m ready to beg.”
He gulped, his hands finding my waist as I began unbuttoning his flannels. I pulled it off of his shoulders and tossed it aside. He slipped his hands to the back of my thighs, pulling me up against him and turning so that I was the one against the wall.
"Well," He whispered, nibbling on my ear. "Beg."
My legs wrapped around his waist, I could feel him getting hard. I kept one arm wrapped around the back of his neck, using my other hand to start undoing his belt. He stopped me, “Not yet, I didn’t say you could.”
"Please, Michael," I whimpered. He put me down, leaving me breathless against the wall. "I want you, right now."
"What do you want me to do, y/n?" He smirked, getting down on his knees. He yanked my jeans down to my ankles, running his hands down my thighs and resting at my knees.
"Just fuck me, hard, please," I groaned, laying my head back against the wall and closing my eyes.
"Oh, you want it hard?" He asked seductively, standing up and moving over to the workbench. "In that case.."
I kicked off my shoes and threw my jeans to the side, watching as he moved some things off of the bench. When I walked over, he grabbed me and forcefully laid me down. “How hard do you want it, baby?”
"As hard as you can give it to me," I shuttered, already squirming at the sight of him standing at the end of the bench, pulling his jeans to his knees.
"Oh, really?"
I gulped and nodded, my breath catching as he reached down and slid my panties off, tossing them to the side. “Well, we won’t be needing these.” He kissed from my waistline up to my bellybutton as he pulled down his boxers. “Last time, you told me to get on bottom. This time? You don’t have a choice.”
"God, Michael, would you just—" He cut me off, biting down on bottom lip and thrusting into me without warning. I gasped, feeling him go deeper every time he slammed into me. It was overwhelming, and I was crying out. He reached behind me, taking my hair in his fist and pulling it so that my head was tilted back. He left sloppy, wet kisses on my neck as he grunted, "Is this hard enough for you, y/n?"
I was about to come as it was, but I couldn’t help but moan, “Harder.”
He chuckled, pulling out of me. “No, Michael, don’t stop. Fuck,” I whined as he grabbed my wrists, yanking me up.
"You want it harder?" He asked, pushing me towards the tarp-covered car— my dad’s prize possession. I noticed that his face was dripping red— his hair dye running with the flowing sweat. "Hands on the hood."
I did as he asked, moaning as he grabbed the back of my thighs and spread them apart. He thrust into me again, grabbing the back of my neck and pinning me down onto the car. I moaned, cried, and whimpered for him, achieving more than one orgasm before he came in me.
He pulled out, still standing behind me as he buttoned his pants up and I struggled to catch my breath. He leaned down against me and I squeezed my legs together, worried he’d try something else. I was done, I couldn’t handle anymore. I shuttered at his hot breath against my neck, “Let’s hope your dad doesn’t notice any dents.”

Notes

I can't believe I got 43 votes! But I have a question. How come I only get one comment (which I love hearing from her)?